The Door in the Wall (12 page)

Tears streamed down Robin’s cheeks.

“I must not cry,” he thought, wiping them away. “Not even for joy.”

“Now,” said John, lifting Robin aloft, “thou’lt be carried on my shoulder—so. For thou’rt the hero of this victory,” and together they went down the long stretches of ladder and stair to the ground.

“Make haste,” said Robin. “Let us go to the keep at once, so Sir Peter and Lady Constance shall know that I am safe and well. Brother Luke will be sure of it, for his prayers have followed me this day. That I know.”

All the way through the town square John made his way with Robin on his shoulder high above the villagers dancing in the dawn of returning day.

They were greeted with cheers at the castle gate and followed across the courtyard to the inner gate and to the keep by the cheering crowd,

Alan-at-Gate saw them from the gatehouse. The draw-bridge was lowered and the portcullis raised, and just inside the whole company of the household stood to receive them. Sir Peter was in the center with his sons and the two pages. Near him was Lady Constance with her women and little Alison. D’Ath whimpered joyfully beside Brother Luke.

Sir Peter held out his arms and helped Robin to the ground, placing the crutches to support him. Then, placing his hand upon Robin’s head, he spoke solemnly.

“Now, before God and this company,” he said, “I do hail thee Conqueror and true son of thy noble father.”

Lady Constance embraced Robin and the women made much of him. D’Ath was too well bred a dog to push himself forward, but his eager prancing and wriggling finally brought him to Robin’s side, where he thrust his long, cold nose into Robin’s hands.

John-go-in-the-Wynd was called forward. He was given a holding of land for his own and a portion of sheep. With it went certain rights for hunting and fishing to be his and his heirs forever.

Brother Luke gave Robin his blessing and went with him to his chamber.

“It seems long since I left here,” said Robin, looking
around as if he expected things to be changed. But there was the cross over his bed, and there on the workbench the little harp just as he had left it, waiting for the strings to be fastened to the keys.

“Much hath happened in this one day,” said Brother Luke. “I should like to hear how thy journey went. By thy look, thou hast fared well, except for needing a good wash and a sleep. Off with thy borrowed clothes and once more I shall care for thee.”

Sleep overtook Robin even before Brother Luke had finished.

The days grew short and very cold. Everyone went about with a red nose and a cloud of frozen breath. Robin was glad of the woolen gloves made for him by Lady Constance. They were snug and warm and decorated with needle-work on the back.

The river ran more slowly now, and ice began to form along the edges. Robin stopped swimming and took his exercise in other ways. He spent a great deal of time with Adam Bowyer shooting at a mark, and was already at work again in the carpentry shop making a viol such as Piers Nitingale used.

The harp was finished. Robin had learned how to tune it by tightening the strings and could play it a little. Brother Luke was teaching him to sing a carol, because it was near to the Feast of Christmas. There would be singing and caroling in the Hall and Robin remembered his father’s letter and hoped that Christmas would bring his father and mother to the castle.

One day before the Feast of Thomas the Apostle, and after the Feast of St. Lucy (the thirteenth of December), Robin was with Sir Peter in the armory. The coats of mail, the helmets, the lances, pikes, bows and arrows were being
put in order, and the great two-handed sword hung on the wall.

“See you here,” said Sir Peter. “This is where the blow struck my helmet. There is a dent as large as a basin.” He rubbed his head where the helmet had been thrust in.

Robin ran his fingers around the ugly cavity, imagining how it would feel to be struck with a mace. He was thinking of his father and wondering whether he, too, had been wounded.

“Will the Scottish wars have ended, think you?” he asked.

“I have had no word directly,” answered Sir Peter. “There have been rumors about that troops of returning soldiers have been seen. Some were going southward along the highroad. John-go-in-the-Wynd might tell us if he were here, but he has not been nigh the castle for weeks. I dare say he is busy building shelter for his new flocks and gathering wood for the winter that his old mother may be warm.”

Robin said no more, but after that he went often to the top of the keep to scan the countryside for signs of horsemen. Sometimes he could see nothing for fog or rain. Sometimes the air was crisp and clear, and he could see far beyond the hills. Once a cloud of dust on the road moving toward the town kept him excited for an hour, but it proved to be only a flock of sheep being driven to market. Once a company of lancers appeared, but they turned southward.

On the afternoon of the Eve of Christmas Robin was at his post on top of the keep, with Adam Bowyer, who was on watch. It began to snow. Robin watched while the silent whiteness covered the hills and the roofs of the town. Far, far below he could see a hawking party. He could see the pages coming from the forest, dragging the yule log and branches of holly to decorate the Hall.

Suddenly Adam Bowyer cried, “Look! Look yonder!” He pointed east, where the road led into the highroad and to the town gate. Robin left the north side of the tower and joined Adam, looking toward where he pointed. The snow dimmed what he saw, but it was clear enough. A company of knights and men at arms rode toward the castle. At the head rode the King, for only he wore the royal colors and the royal quarterings of the banners. At his side rode one who sat his horse as only Robin’s father did. In the midst of the great company were ladies, pikemen, men at arms, and yeomen. That must be the Queen. Was it the Lady Maud there beside her in the center? It must be!

Robin burst into a cheer.

“It is true!” he shouted. “It is true! The Scottish wars are over, and my father is alive!” He must say nothing about his mother, for fear Adam would think him babyish. He dashed down the winding stair as fast as he dared, crossed the inner ward to the Hall, thump, slip, thump, slip, and then to the solar to find Sir Peter. Thump, slip, thump, slip, thump, slip, thump, slip!

Sir Peter roared with laughter at Robin’s attempt to tell him about the approaching company, for he knew from the moment he had seen Robin’s shining face the good news.

“Shall I go to the gate to be there when they enter, think you?” asked Robin anxiously.

“Do what seems best, my boy,” said Sir Peter. “Go stand beside Alan-at-Gate or stay you here by my side. I know what a fever of excitement is in thy bones, but do what you most want to do.” Robin felt as if he must run to meet the company, must see his father, and feel the comfort of his mother’s arms about him. Yet he felt timid about facing either of them. They would find him so changed.

“If I stand beside you, my lord, they will surely know
it is I. If they see me in the courtyard, they may think I am but one of the stableboys. I shall stay here.”

“Come, lad,” said Sir Peter. “Let us go to the window of the tower. There we can see the company cross the drawbridge, and before they have dismounted we can be back ready to welcome them in the Hall at the head of the stair.”

Before leaving the Hall, Sir Peter called Denis the page and sent word to Lady Constance to be ready to greet the noble visitors. He and Robin went quickly up the winding stair to the turret overlooking the drawbridge. They reached it in time to hear the pounding of the hoofs on the timbers of the bridge and to see the waving banners. The handsome erect figure of Sir John de Bureford was fitting
company for the noble-looking King. And there, there—now just passing into the courtyard—was Robin’s lovely mother, the veil of her coif floating and mingling with that of the Queen whom she attended.

There was no time for greeting or waving. The tumult of horse and weapon made too much noise for voices to have been heard. Sir Peter grasped Robin and swung him across his back. They went swiftly back the way they had come and were standing in welcome at the head of the great staircase as the company entered.

Who spoke first or what was first said it would be hard to tell. Robin found himself bowing to kiss his mother’s hand, then felt her soft arms about him.

“Robin, my Robin,” she whispered, and for a moment said no more, but only held him close, as if she could not let him go. The crutches fell to the stone floor with a great clatter. Robin’s father bent to pick them up, laughing to keep from showing how deeply he was moved by the sight of them.

“He is my son, too,” he said, gently tugging at the mother’s close-enfolding arms and holding Robin at arm’s length to look into his face.

“You are grown,” he said. “Your eyes no longer out-race your chin as do a child’s. You’ve now the look of a youth!” Sir John embraced his son warmly. Nothing was said of crutches or of misshapen legs, or of ill fortune or of good.

Sir Peter spoke. “Shall we not allow our guests to retire?”

“Yes,” agreed the King. “Later we shall hear news of the war’s ending and how all have fared this long year. Let us go our several ways and meet again in the Hall, for we are spent with weariness and soiled with travel.”

With another touch of his mother’s hand, Robin left the company and went to find Brother Luke and to make himself ready for the audience.

There never was such merrymaking as took place in the Hall that Christmas Eve. Such ballads sung! Such tales told!

Branches of holly and spruce decked the Hall and filled the air with fragrance. The yule log burned on the hearth and flaming torches filled the sconces.

The King and Queen sat enthroned in the great chairs on the dais. A tapestry was draped on the screen behind them and rich Eastern carpets beneath.

Sir Peter and Lady Constance sat at one side of the King and Queen and Sir John and Lady Maud at the other.

Robin entered the Hall with Brother Luke as he had been commanded, and at a signal came forward to stand before the dais. He wore a black velvet doublet and carried the Saxon harp on his back. As usual, D’Ath followed at his heels.

Robin felt as though the Hall were as long as London Bridge, for when he entered all was quiet, and his crutches seemed to make a great sound on the stone floor. Servants and courtiers bowed as he passed.

What was going to happen?

What had the King to say to him? Would his parents leave him and go back to London?

At last he reached the dais. The King rose and stood over Robin, lifting from his own shoulders a chain of gold set with medallions of fine workmanship, then he spoke.

“Can you kneel, my son?” he asked.

“I can for a little time, Sire,” answered Robin, “long enough to say ‘Our Father’.” He dropped to the cushion, supporting himself with one crutch. The friar took the other.

“Robin, son of Sir John de Bureford,” the King said solemnly, “it hath been told to us what service you have done for the lord of this castle and me, King of the whole realm of England and France. You are a true son of a noble father. Though but a youth, you have shown courage a man might be proud to call his own.”